Chapter 8 - Ivy
The door closes behind Phoenix, and I'm left sitting on the edge of the bed, my heart racing like I've just run a marathon.
I press my fingers against my lips, feeling the ghost of his kiss still lingering there.
Incredible. That's the only word for it.
No man has ever kissed me like that. Cole never kissed me like that. His kisses were demands, taking what he wanted without caring if I wanted it too. They were about ownership, about marking territory, about reminding me who I belonged to.
Phoenix kissed me like it mattered. Like my enjoyment was as important as his. Like the kiss had feeling behind it instead of just being something he wanted from me.
I fall back onto the bed, arms sprawled over my head, staring at the ceiling.
"You're an idiot, Ivy," I mutter to myself.
I must have a thing for trouble. I ran away from one biker only to end up almost falling for another when a war is about to break out. When men might die. When everything could go wrong in a hundred different ways.
The timing couldn't be worse.
And the age gap…
Phoenix has to be at least ten years older than me, maybe more.
He's the president of a motorcycle club, scarred, dangerous, and carrying the weight of impossible decisions.
I'm a twenty-six-year-old woman who just escaped an abusive relationship, covered in bruises and trauma, desperately trying to figure out who I am without Cole's voice in my head.
What business do I have kissing him? What right do I have to want more when I'm barely holding myself together?
But God, that kiss.
I touch my lips again, remembering it. The care. The way Phoenix cupped my face like I might break, the way he pulled back and looked at me with wonder in his dark eyes.
Like he couldn't quite believe it was happening either.
"Fuck my life," I whisper to the empty room.
I ran from one disaster straight into another. But somehow, this disaster feels different. Feels like maybe, possibly, it could be something good instead of something that destroys me.
Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
Hours later…
I spend the next few hours alone in the small room, listening to sounds from downstairs—voices, footsteps, the occasional rumble of a motorcycle engine. The Iron Phoenix preparing for war while I hide in a bedroom like a damsel in a tower.
The helplessness grates at me, but I don't know what else to do. Phoenix told me to stay put, to stay safe. And after two years of Cole controlling my every move, the idea of going against Phoenix's instructions feels wrong even though his request came from protection instead of possession.
Eventually, I force myself into the bathroom across the hall.
The shower is hot, almost too hot, and I stand under the spray until my skin turns pink. I watch the grimy dirt of three days on the run swirl down the drain: gas station bathrooms and rest stop sinks and sleeping in my car don't exactly make for good hygiene.
I scrub myself raw, washing away layers of fear and road dust. Wash my hair twice, untangling the choppy strands I cut with kitchen scissors the night I ran. I look at the bottles in the shower, basic men's products, nothing fancy, and use them anyway.
When I finally step out, wrapped in a towel I found under the sink, I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
The bruises look worse clean. Purple-yellow on my jaw, finger-shaped marks on my wrists, shadows under my ribs where Cole kicked me a week ago. My eyes are hollowed out from stress and lack of sleep, bags under them that make me look a lot older than twenty-six.
But my hair is clean. My skin feels new. The grime is gone.
I feel like a different person. Not the woman who showed up at four in the morning desperate and terrified. Not quite myself yet, but maybe getting there.
I get dressed in the same clothes. I only have one change, and I already wore those yesterday, and return to the room. Sit on the bed and wait.
For what, I'm not sure. For Phoenix to come back? For the Vipers to arrive? For my life to make sense again?
Dinner comes around six. I know because there's a knock on the door, and when I open it, Saint is standing there with a plate of food.
"Thought you might be hungry," he says, offering me the plate. "Canvas made spaghetti. It's edible, I promise."
I take the plate, the smell making my stomach growl. I haven't eaten since yesterday and couldn't keep anything down this morning from nerves.
"Thank you," I say.
Saint lingers in the doorway, and I gesture for him to come in. He does, leaning against the wall the same way Phoenix did this morning.
"Can I ask you something?" I say, settling back on the bed with the plate.
"Sure."
"Your name, Saint. Is it the opposite of your brother's? Demon and Saint?"
He chuckles, and when he smiles, he looks so different from Demon it's almost jarring. "Yeah. When I patched in with the Iron Phoenix, Phoenix asked what road name I wanted. I said Saint. Partly as a fuck-you to my brother, partly because I wanted to be the opposite of everything he represents."
"That makes sense."
"Don't get it twisted though," Saint adds, his expression turning serious. "I'm not actually a saint. I've done bad things. I'll do even worse in the upcoming war. The name's aspirational, not descriptive."
The honesty is refreshing. He's not trying to present himself as perfect, just as someone trying to be better than his bloodline.
"But I can promise you this," Saint continues, his voice hard. "My brother will never touch you. None of the Vipers will. I'll make sure of it personally if it comes to that."
"Thank you."
"No problem." He's quiet for a moment, then a smile tugs at his lips. "You know, I noticed something today."
"What?"
"You and Phoenix look great together."
My cheeks flame instantly. "We don't… We're not—"
"Relax," Saint says, clearly amused by my reaction. "I'm just saying, there's nothing wrong with wanting something better than what you had before. Phoenix is a good man. The best, actually. If you're interested in him, you could do a hell of a lot worse."
"I'm not! It's not like that," I stammer, even though we both know I'm lying.
Saint just grins. "Whatever you say." He pushes off the wall, heading for the door. "Eat. Rest. Phoenix will probably check on you later."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my flaming cheeks and the plate of spaghetti.
I eat slowly, tasting nothing. My mind is too busy replaying Saint's words, replaying the kiss from this morning, replaying every interaction I've had with Phoenix since I showed up on his doorstep.
*There's nothing wrong with wanting something better than what you had before.*
Is that what this is? Am I just gravitating toward Phoenix because he's the opposite of Cole? Because he's kind where Cole was cruel, gentle where Cole was violent, respectful where Cole was controlling?
Or is it something more?
I don't have answers. Don't know how to untangle my feelings when everything is so complicated, when a war is brewing and people might die.
I finish eating and set the plate aside. Lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Outside, I can hear rain starting to fall. The patter against the clubhouse roof is soothing. The kind of sound that usually helps me sleep.
But sleep feels impossible tonight.
I'm too wired, too aware of everything happening around me. The Iron Phoenix preparing for war. The Vipers coming. Phoenix downstairs somewhere, probably strategizing with his brothers, probably not thinking about the kiss we shared this morning.
Probably being the president instead of the man who looked at me like I was something worth fighting for.
The rain gets heavier, drumming against the roof and windows. I close my eyes, letting the sound wash over me. I must drift off eventually because the knock on the door startles me awake.
I sit up, disoriented. The room is darker now. Evening has fully settled in. The rain is still falling, steady and strong.
"Come in," I call, my voice rough from sleep.
The door opens, and Phoenix steps inside.
He's changed clothes. He’s wearing a different T-shirt, his hair slightly damp like he's been out in the rain, and he looks tired.
But when he sees me, his expression comes alive.
"Hey," he says. "Wanted to check on you. Make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine." I sit up fully, suddenly self-conscious about my rumpled clothes and probably messy hair. "Saint brought me dinner."
"Good." Phoenix closes the door behind him and leans against it, the same position he took this morning. "I'm sorry I haven't been up sooner. We've been setting up defenses and trying to anticipate every possible scenario."
"It's okay. I understand."
"You showered."
It's not a question, just an observation. I nod.
"Feel better?"
"A little. Cleaner, at least." I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. "How are things downstairs? With the preparations?"
"As ready as we can be." Phoenix runs a hand through his hair. "We've got cameras on every approach, defensive positions mapped, escape routes planned. Brick and Ranger have it down to a science. Now we just wait."
I want to ask if he's thought about the kiss. Want to know if it meant anything or if it was just a moment of weakness, a brief lapse before reality reasserted itself.
But I can't find the words. Can't figure out how to ask without sounding desperate or pathetic or like I'm reading too much into something that was probably meaningless to him.
"About this morning," Phoenix says, and my heart stops.
Here it comes. The apology. The explanation that it was a mistake, that he got caught up in the moment, that it can't happen again.
"I shouldn't have kissed you," he continues, and I feel something crack in my chest. "The timing was wrong. You're vulnerable. I'm supposed to be protecting you, not—"
"Not what?" I interrupt, surprising myself with the edge in my voice. "Not treating me like a person who can make her own decisions? Not acknowledging that maybe I wanted it too?"
Phoenix looks startled. "Ivy—"
"You keep apologizing for treating me with respect," I say, the words tumbling out faster now.
"For asking my opinion, for giving me choices, for kissing me like you actually wanted to instead of like you were taking something I didn't offer.
Do you know how rare that is? Do you know how long it's been since someone treated me like my wants mattered? "
I'm standing now, without realizing I moved. Standing and facing him across the small room, adrenaline and frustration making me brave.
"I'm not some delicate thing that's going to break if you acknowledge there's something between us," I continue.
"I'm scared and traumatized and probably making terrible decisions, but I'm also an adult who knows her own mind.
And I wanted that kiss, Phoenix. Wanted it badly enough that I'm still thinking about it hours later even though there's a war coming and people might die and everything is falling apart. "
The confession leaves me breathless, shaking. Phoenix stares at me, his eyes wide with surprise.
"You're right," he says finally. "You're absolutely right. I'm treating you like you're fragile when you're anything but. You ran from the Vipers, drove through the night alone, showed up at a stranger's door with nothing but hope. That's not fragile. That's brave as hell."
He pushes off the door, taking a step toward me.
"I wanted that kiss too," he admits, his voice low. "Have been thinking about it all day. Thinking about you. About how wrong the timing is and how I should keep my distance and how none of that seems to matter when I'm in the same room as you."
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it.
"The age gap—" he starts.
"I'm twenty-six," I say. "Not eighteen. Not a child. Old enough to know what I want."
"I'm thirty-eight."
"I can do math." I take a step toward him, closing the distance. "Twelve years. That's the gap. And you know what? I don't care. Cole was only eight years older than me and he was a monster. Age doesn't determine character."
"No," Phoenix agrees. "But it does create power imbalances. Experience gaps. You've been through hell, Ivy. I don't want to take advantage of that."
"You're not." I'm close enough now to see the conflict in his eyes, the war between what he wants and what he thinks is right. "You're giving me the choice. That's the difference between you and every other man I've known. You're letting me decide instead of deciding for me."
Phoenix's hand comes up, hovering near my face like he wants to touch me but doesn't quite dare.
"I'm deciding I want this," I whisper. "Whatever this is. Even if the timing is terrible. Even if it doesn't make sense. Even if tomorrow everything goes to hell. Right now, in this moment, I want you."
Phoenix closes the last inch between us, his hand cupping my face the same way it did this morning. But this kiss is different. Deeper. More urgent. Like he's been holding back all day and finally let himself feel everything he's been suppressing.
I kiss him back with equal desperation, my hands fisting in his t-shirt, pulling him closer. The rain pounds against the roof, drowning out everything except the sound of our breathing, the thundering of two hearts that have no business beating in sync.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Phoenix rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
"This is a terrible idea," he murmurs.
"Probably," I agree.
"The worst timing imaginable."
"Absolutely."
"We should stop. Be smart about this."
"We should."
Neither of us moves.
The rain continues to fall, and somewhere downstairs eight men are preparing for war. But up here, in this small room, there's just us.
Just this moment.
Just the impossible thing blooming between us despite every reason it shouldn't.
And for now, that's enough.